


take my hand.

by hairringtonsteve



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, dealing with character death, spoilers for episode 8, steve is a great comforter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-17
Updated: 2017-11-17
Packaged: 2019-02-03 15:29:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12751086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hairringtonsteve/pseuds/hairringtonsteve
Summary: The reader - who is especially close to a certain character - deals with the aftermath of episode 8: the mind flayer. Steve is a great comforter.





	take my hand.

“What? What do you mean?”

Your voice was trembling as you regarded the ragtag group in front of you. Dustin, Mike, Lucas, and Max were all huddled on the Byer’s couch. Nancy and Jonathan were in the kitchen, the occasional muffled whisper floating through. Steve was leaning against the doorway, his gaze flickering between you and the police chief.

And then, there was Hopper. He was the one that had been talking, his words coming out awkward and halted.

“He’s gone.”

You shook your head. It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true. Uncle Bob wasn’t dead. There had to be another reason why Mrs. Byers hadn’t made eye contact with you when you’d all tumbled into her house. There had to be another reason why Uncle Bob hadn’t been with them when they’d crowded into Hopper’s vehicle. Sure, he’d gone with them to the lab, but maybe he’d somehow left before everything had happened. Maybe he’d just -

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Hopper murmured, laying his hand on your shoulder. You jerked away from his touch. It was all too much. Your eyes were stinging and your throat felt thick. Was it you, or was the room starting to close in on you? You took in a deep, shuddering breath, glancing around as the nerves in your stomach came to a head.

“I need some air,” you managed to get out before stumbling towards the door. Dustin called out to you, yelling something about demodogs, but you could barely hear him over the panicked thoughts that were beginning to bubble over. Your fingers wrapped around the doorknob and you wrenched it open. The cold air hit you with a sharp sting. It was a welcomed feeling. For a moment, it dulled the roar that was your mind. But then it all came back to you a moment later, harder and more painful than before as you closed the door behind you.

Uncle Bob wasn’t supposed to die. At least, not like that. He deserved so much better than that. Bob Newby was the man that had been like a second father to you. He’d taken you out for ice cream after every single soccer game from the time you were in first grade. He’d taught you all about video cameras, even buying you one for your sixteenth birthday. He’d gone with you to see all three Star Wars movies on the opening night. Hell, he’d even dressed up as Obi-Wan Kenobi because he knew that you’d like it.

He’d always been there for you, no matter what. Your mom and dad had always been decent parents to you, but Uncle Bob was different.

He was special.

And now he was gone.

The door creaked open behind you, shutting softly before familiar steps started towards you. You reached up, using the back of your hand to wipe away the tears that had started to fall. Steve hopped off the porch and took a seat on the edge, patting the spot next to him. You hesitated for a moment, eyeing the spot warily before giving in.

You’d half expected it to be Dustin when you’d heard the door open. Or Mike or Lucas or Hopper or literally just about anyone else other than Steve. You and Steve were acquaintances at best, having barely spoken throughout school despite being in the same grade ever since third grade. But, weirdly enough, Steve might have been the best choice. Anyone else would have made you feel even worse.

“You know, I went into Radio Shack the other week,” Steve said as you sat down beside him. Your shoulders brushed against each other, but you didn’t bother moving away. It was cold and Steve was warm.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I wanted to get a part in my stereo fixed, and Bob was there.” Your chest ached at his name. “Somehow, I ended up in there for an hour and a half, talking to him about Star Wars and how stereos work and Kenny Rogers.” You let out a watery laugh.

“Jesus. He’d talk about Kenny Rogers for ten hours if you’d let him.” You stole a glance over to Steve, watching as he smiled a little.

“I know, right? He mentioned, though, that he was trying to expand his music tastes. Wanted me to give him some recommendations, so he’d have something to talk to Jonathan about.”

There was something so endearing and painful about that statement that it broke something in you. You finally let out a sob, clapping a hand over your mouth the instant it had left you. Steve wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you in towards him. You tilted yourself so you could bury your face into his neck. Your arms wrapped around him, fingers pressing into his back as your whole body was wracked with another sob.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, winding his other arm around you. He held you tight, his one hand rubbing soothing circles against your back. “I’ve got you,” he repeated once more.

It took awhile before the crying stopped. Just when you felt like you’d spent all of your tears, another memory would surface and it would start all over again. Uncle Bob sitting at your kitchen table, laughing at a joke you’d said as a child. Tears. Uncle Bob watching and yelling encouragement as your dad had tried to teach you how to ride a bike. Tears. Uncle Bob looking on in pride when you’d told him that you’d joined the AV club. Tears. It felt like every single memory was speeding through your mind, a carrousel of never ending pain.

But eventually it did stop. The sobs slowed down. The tears dried on your cheeks. Eventually, it was just Steve holding you, still murmuring soft comforts into your hair as you leaned against him.

“Bob was a good man,” he whispered as you started to pull away a little. Your arms fell from him, as he did the same to you. He regarded you carefully as you gave a sharp nod.

“We’ve got to kill those things,” you say, your voice weak despite the strong, angry look in your eyes.

“You ready to go back in there?”

You gave another nod of your head as you took in a deep breath. Steve stood up, stretching his arms over his head as he glanced around the dark yard. His gaze fell back to you, watching you for a moment longer before holding out his hand to you. A small, tired grin fell onto his lips as he nodded his head towards the door.

“Let’s go kill those sons of bitches, then.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I also started up a tumblr (hairringtonsteve.tumblr.com) where you can request fics! Please check it out!


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